Richard Brook Was Real
by ViSovari
Summary: Moriarty was real but so was Richard Brook, James Brook's twin brother. The story of their entanglement, the tragedy of the Reichenbach Fall and Moriarty's downfall. Moriarty/Moran/Brook. M for sexual themes both gay and incestual.
1. Chapter 1

Moriarty did die on the roof that afternoon with Sherlock. Rick had always been the weaker of the two, always over shadowed and over powered by his 3 minute older brother. He relied on him though, no matter what paths Jim took in life or how far he roamed, Richard had always been looked after. Jim had paid the mortgage on his house when Richard's wife left him, had set him up with a new job when he'd had trouble keeping a job when his wife took the kids away for good.

No matter their distance, no matter that they didn't speak but possibly twice a year, the shadow of Moriarty stained Richard's life in every way. Always lurking in the corners, always giving him that knowing smirk, the snake's grin that had kept predatory children at bay their entire childhood. It only made Richard's pathetic idolization all the more shameful. He'd always told the concerned teachers in school the same thing he told his psychiatrists: I followed because I was scared, his victim.

It had been fervent adoration, blind love, it had been near religious devotion. Though he never spoke of it nor showed it in his actions or words, it lay just under the surface of his skin, a garment of worship worn more closely than any clothing. James was a presence that followed Richard everywhere. He had loved his brother's madness long before anyone else had dreamed it existed and at times had both tempered and encouraged it.

"So Richard had lived his life, as bland and pedestrian as any other since the day Jim had packed one duffel bag and stepped out of their flat, not to be seen for another 4 years. No more unethical experiments at 3 am, no covert surveillance, no complicated black mail schemes, no more going days without sleep just so he wouldn't miss any of James' breakthrough. He married Clara, hopped around various accounting firms and had two children. Ordinary, as Jim would have said.

Richard woke on the morning of his 33rd birthday to the sound of someone in his kitchen. To any other person this would be a cause of worry but the elation that flooded poor Richard was more dangerous than any actual intruder could have been. In his excitement, he even forgot to change from his jams before nearly running to his kitchen. Moriarty leaned nonchalantly against the counter and even through his joy Richard felt a pang of fear at his brother's first words: "Give me your life."

"There's a game afoot, dear brother, and the time has come when I need you by my side." Finally. They had been born together and Richard had known ever since they were 9 and had dissected their first human corpse together-. "The price, though, is your life. I mean everything, your name, your past, your records, your entire person. All of it is forfeit if you come to live with me." -that his death would more than likely come at the hands of his brother. So, without hesitation, "Oh, god yes.""

And so it was that by car, plane, boat and limo, Richard found himself in a flat in San Francisco with no belongings, his brother having mysteriously vanished and a very tall, very well built blonde, sneaking glances at him from across the room. Jim had taken one look at Richard's wardrobe and refused to allow him to pack anything or even dress and had simply asked him his measurements. After sending a flurry of texts he'd assured him he could borrower his own until a shopping trip was possible."

After learning to navigate the labyrinth that Jim called his wardrobe, Richard dressed in simple black slacks and a white button up. He turned in the mirror, imagining being mistaken for Jim, remembering all of the times they'd used their eerie ability to mimic one another to pester others as young boys and then for more manipulative reasons as adults. Cara. That had been their only experiment he'd regretted later. Lost in thought, Richard didn't hear someone enter the room behind him.

"So, you're really real, huh?" Richard whirled only to find himself looking much too far up for his liking at the man who'd been staring at him earlier. He looked to be at least 3 inches over 6 foot and everything about him seemed to insinuate violence. His body was relaxed but a subtle tension through the lines of his limbs bespoke readiness. He gave off the same sharp ozone smell that precipated violent weather. The smell of death to come.

"Yeah, you're just like him. Off in your own head." Moran patted him sympathetically on the shoulder before turning to leave, calling casually over his shoulder, "Though I'd bet you probably aren't enough like him, amirite?"

Richard stood looking out the door long after the man's admittedly spectacular rear had passed from view. Who was he? What did he mean to Moriarty? For that matter, what did he mean to Jim?

And where the bloody hell was Jim, for that matter?


	2. Homecoming

Jim returned just as the sun was setting, empty handed but with a certain skip to his gait said he was pleased with himself. This was the Jim that Richard remembered most fondly, full of himself, happy and content, Jim was much like a cat after a pleasant hunt. It was at times like this when he was most human, still far from it by most people's standards but the closest he ever seemed to make it.

Richard had been perusing a stack of magazines on the table, content to simply know that he was waiting for someone who was actually _going _to come home to him. Moran, as he had later introduced himself during RIchard's one attempt at conversation, was sitting on a bench on the impressive veranda.

Richard watched Jim as he jittered with barely constrained mirth, sliding onto the couch beside him and snuggling up against his side. It was an attempt to reconnect with their past, completely unneccessary as Moriarty alread had his full complicity. Smoothing a slender hand through his twin's wiry, black hair, Richard took it as the sign of affection Jim had wanted it to be. He turned back to his magazine, fiddling with Jim's hair as he read.

Only seconds passed before, with a contented yawn, Jim slapped the magazine out of Richard's hands, not so subtely demanding attention. Still he didn't speak, just hummed against Richard's neck, sighing occasionally.

"Why do you need my identity, Jim? Where do I fall in your schemes this time, luv?" The pet name was old, a selfish whim for him. If Jim could pick up where they left off, so would he. "I hope there's more I can do for you besides sit here an-"

Jim tilted his head up and press his lips hurredly against his brothers, teeth scraping against teeth in his haste. Richard shuddered, hands flexing convulsively but the indecision passed quickly. Sealing his mouth against its mirror, his last thoughts were of drowning and the hell that awaited him should he fail to resurface.

But hell could wait and, eager as he'd been at 15, Jim would not.


	3. The Good Old Days

Sex with Jim had always been a topic of much thought for Richard and not in the way Jim might pride himself with. It was hard to describe going down on a man that in most aspects was a mirror image of oneself. It had been especially eerie when they'd began experimenting at 15. Jim had shown no interest in sex prior to that year but a rumor circulating their school caught his attention and a void was created. As with all of Jim's flighty obsessions, this had required vigorous study and practice.

At that age, before time and distance had molded scars and wrinkles they could not share, they had been nearly identical and through their own private efforts would often attempt to be perfectly identical. At the age of 12, Jim had cut his hand badly while practicing wielding a butterfly knife. They'd been in the woods behind the estates, surrounded by trees and completely alone, as they most often were. The blood dripped a steady rhythm against the dead leaves that carpeted the forest floor and both boys tilted their heads and studied the beat.

Richard knew Jim studied the time it took for the drop to fall, the splatter patterns, the smell of it, it's visibility in this environment and a thousand other variables. Jim inwardly sneered, knowing his brother enjoyed the sound of their mutual heartbeat written against the forest floor in their shared blood.

After a time, Richard wordlessly raised his hand to Jim, who had taken it gently in his own. He rubbed his thumb soothingly across the palm, a silent acknowledgment of the coming pain. He then cut Richard's hand, a two inch gash right above the knuckles, the perfect companion to his own. They'd stayed in the clearing for long minutes afterward, simply smiling and enjoying their moment of synchronization.

When their mother had treated the wounds that evening she had said nothing but frowned, clearly doubting the coincidental nature of the wounds. She'd always doubted, had probably understood more of the true nature of the boys' relationship than anyone else. Always she simply pursed her lips and said nothing though, never wanting to have to admit aloud that her boys might be monsters.

When they'd been 15, Jim had heard a rumor in school that a girl a year under them had slept with one of her professors for a passing grade on the exam. This hadn't been the first time the concept of using sexuality as a means to an end had been presented to them but it had been their first interaction with it in direct life. Jim had studied the chemical processes of infatuation, lust, love, anything pertaining to sex he could find.

He'd studied gender roles, social stigmas, and anything that could affect a person's sexual perception of him. When it became time to practice, Richard had more than prepared himself for the inevitability of his brother's sexual advances. In the part of himself he only allowed Jim to see, he even felt an aching anticipation for it. They shared everything, even this.

What he had not been expecting was Jim's apparent complete lack of interest. They still spent most of their time together but suddenly Jim began spending time with supposed study groups after classes. Richard had pretended as best he could that everything was the same as it had always been but then the rumors had began cropping up at school. Jim's name was whispered everywhere, in every hall and it very nearly drove Richard mad.

Jim's sexual exploits were the talk of the school but Jim's roving eyes seemed to turn to everyone but Richard.


	4. Home Alone

Warning: Mature Warning for this chapter (also, unbeta'd)

"He really went on some sort of sexual rampage in high school?" Sebastian didn't sound nearly as disbelieving as he did amused and Richard couldn't help but laugh along. It was one of the many days in which they shared the flat alone and they lay entangled on their communal bed, bare chested and smiling as they shared stories about their favorite psychopath. They found relief in one another as they both shared the same crippling devotion to Jim that others would ostracize them for.

"It was tragic. Boys three years his senior were promising him hell and high water if he would only spend one more night with them." Richard walked his fingers across Sebastian's stomach, pausing to run them across the smattering of scars that ran in lines and knots. "It was utter chaos and he only encouraged it, of course. According to rumor, his particular favorite was coming between couples, more often than not by seducing the men."

"But never with you, huh? From the way he jumped on you that first night, I kind of figured you were maybe the first." Moriarty had made it a point to break down any physical barriers between his brother and lover very early into their new living arrangements and the two had embraced a unique intimacy wholly apart from Moriarty's influence. "How bad was it for you, then?"

Richard tapped his fingers against the hard muscle beneath his hand as he chewed his bottom lip in thought. Moran simply watched him, always entertained by his boss's alternate reality self as he liked to call him. The god made mortal.

"It would have simply been heart breaking if that had been how it ended but as with everything my brother does there must always be a final act." He adopted his brother's chaotic inflections as he spoke, voice rising and falling as he wove different accents in and out. It had been difficult to adapt but they'd always had a knack for mimicry and in a matter of weeks he did a quite passable Moriarty impression. "As people are wont to do, Jim's sins were attributed to me on account of our identical appearance. I was bullied more for it than he was as I was the easier target."

The memory was strong and as he wove the story in Moriarty's lilting voice, Richard found himself swept farther and farther away from the present.

"Finally, he went too far and he pissed off a lot of people much larger and stronger than he was. I found out about it after class when someone slammed my face against my locker and then punched me in the kidney." Moran chuckled and Richard looked up to find himself suddenly straddling the man's hips. He frowned and batted the warm hands away from his hips, determined to finish his story. "A lot of blood and swearing later, I was informed that the beating had been for my brother and that he would know why."

His voice hitched, flickering back to his usual speech patterns as Moran's hands slid to his thighs, distractingly warm through his jeans.

"I'd been past breaking by this point so I got myself sent home for the day with my black eye, broken thumb and bruised ribs and I waited. I decked him the moment he walked in and I kicked him while he was down. I kicked him once for every time those upperclassmen had kicked me." He wasn't surprised that Moran was clearly aroused at the prospect. If Jim was half as uninhibited with the man as he had been with Richard, Moran was more than conditioned to enjoy blood play. "We knew each other too well to ever verbally argue. We simply stared at one another, mentally volleying our thoughts at one another until a resolution was reached or one of us walked away. He was smirking."

"Let me see if I can guess why. He did it just to watch you break, didn't he?" Moran's words were deeper than he'd intended, his breathing coming hard now as he felt Richard respond to his touch. This was the kind of control he could never have with Jim and it was a relaxing break from his lover's often tortuous demands. "Just to see you want him."

He drug his blunt fingernails down the soft skin of Richard's back, groaning deep in his throat as the man cried out involuntarily.

"Oh, don't leave out the best part, brother dearest." Both men jerked their heads toward the door. They were both cautiously neutral in expression, carefully trying to gauge Moriarty's mood as he stood, hip cocked in the doorway. He grinned at them both, seemingly merely amused at the sight before him. "Don't let him fool you into thinking it was a sad story, little soldier, I had him bent over his own bed and screaming my name only minutes afterward."

Richard and Sebastian's eyes flicked guiltily toward one another, having felt each others arousal's pulse at his words. Moriarty clearly understood the look and his grin only became more mischievous.

"I'm beginning to wonder if I should be leaving you two home alone, after all."


	5. Date Night

Jim sat slumped on the pristine, white couch, his legs splayed, feet propped up on the the coffee table. Richard smiled, knowing Jim was feeling playful from his unusual attire. A white t-shirt, v-necked and clearly meant for a woman, it rode slightly to high on his narrow frame and a pale strip of abdomen winked from above his chalk grey, pencil jeans. Thudding, stomping and occasionally grumbling could be heard from the bedroom and Jim shared a wry smile with his twin over his bright gold aviators. Sebastian had been enjoying his evening off and had been a good portion of the way to drunk when Jim had sprung this job on him and the ex-soldier was not taking the news well.

"Sweetie, try to look nice and I'll take you out afterwards." Jim pitched his voice dramatically high and sounded like a mother trying to pacify her teenager with little hope of success. "Then I'll fuck you behind the bar of your choice. Promise!"

The clear sounds of swearing and a heavy boot hitting the wall echoed from the bedroom and both men burst into hushed laughter. Richard grabbed another of the beers from the fridge, a vice he and Sebastian shared that Jim scoffed at with every opportunity, and settled into his reading chair. He was a bit drunk himself and had every intention of staying in, reading a good book and letting Jim and Seb handle the bloodshed themselves.

They each sat in comfortable silence, Jim on his phone and Richard with his book until sudden silence from Seb caught both of their attention and they turned as one to the bedroom door. Seb didn't so much stand in the door way as drape himself against it, both his legs stretched almost comically far so his body was stretched and taut. Without taking their eyes from him, the brothers shared a quick exchange.

"Richard, what movie were you watching when I arrived home this afternoon?" Moriarty's voice was polite to the point of ridiculousness and Richard couldn't help but to play along.

"Why, James, I do believe Sebastian and I were re-watching our old favorite, Fight Club." Richard thought his imitation of Jim's polite voice was passing fair considering the amount he'd had to drink earlier.

Sebastian glared at them over hot pink tinted sunglasses, clearly Jim's, his blonde hair was spiked chaotically and, on display as he was, his white t-shirt rode painfully high on his stomach. The flat planes of muscle, delightful though they were, were vastly overwhelmed by the much too interesting trail of hair that stretched down, so far down, to disappear still too early into low belted, dark jeans. His red leather jacket was only half on, pulled tight on his elbows behind him and as he pushed himself off the door frame and sauntered into the living room, he pulled it on with a shrug.

Jim laughed at the show, clearly enjoying that, even in anger, Sebastian had become used to playing the games that Jim liked best. Dress up being a long standing favorite. Jim stood, his combat boots hitting the floor with a thud that implied steel toes.

"How much trouble are you two stirring up and when will you be home?" Richard enjoyed the flood of warmth at the sense of family he felt here, regardless of how dysfunctional that family may be.

"Possible murder, only one. Minimal to no risk, not to worry. May go out afterward so we won't be home til late, honey." As he spoke, Jim turned and slipped his hand into Sebastian's back pocket and began to walk out the door. Richard heard them talking and laughing down the hall and out the front door and simply smiled as he turned to the next page in his book.

Moran drove, the windows of the nondescript car heavily tinted. Jim propped his feet up on the dash and simply stared out the window, lost in his thoughts as he watched the passing scenery. The silence was peaceful, neither man uncomfortable in the absence of conversation and each putting it to their own uses. As he drove, Moran perused the details of the visit Jim had planned for tonight.

She was a young thing, sweet really, but she'd borrowed big money from Jim and had failed to make good on her end of the bargain. Possibility that she'd have a gun, unlikely she'd know how to use it well. Jim really only wanted him for intimidation. Moran spared a look at the passenger seat and it's occupant's attire and changed his mind. Jim was capable of intimidating anyone, really, he only wanted a night out. Sebastian ran a calloused hand through his gelled hair, pulling on the sticky spikes and laughing to himself.

Jim was pretty much the best boyfriend an old-fashioned murderer like himself could ever hope for. Seb had been in a pretty shit mood lately so Jim had decided to take him out to murder some bitch and then get drunk.

Seeming to have sensed Seb's tipsy revelation, Jim scoffed and punched him on the arm but Sebastian only laughed louder as he drove on.

When they arrived, Seb parked his car directly in front of the middle class apartment building, slamming the breaks a little harder than necessary and smiling as Jim hissed, jerked violently against his seat belt. He leveled a glare at his gunman, indignantly straightening his ridiculous gold sunglasses and Moran impulsively kissed his nose as he fussed. The alcohol wasn't strong enough in his blood to dull his sense but was instead a warm comfort so when Jim leveled a punch at him, Moran simply caught it and kissed his knuckles. The gunman laughed again, happy simply to have fun. And maybe be a bit drunk.

His eyes strayed from Jim's ironically blinding shades down to his too clingy v-neck and the thin patch of black hair that showed above his two tight jeans. And maybe a bit horny as well, come to think of it. The criminal genius pretended not to see the eye fuck Seb was clearly soliciting him with and instead exited the car, careful to bend over and adjust the lacings on his boots so that the passenger window framed his ass perfectly. Sometimes, oh so rarely, working for Jim was honestly worth it, Seb thought as he climbed out of the car.

They stood side by side at the door and Seb couldn't resist the urge to lean down and bite the shell of Jim's ear before entering the building. Jim only swatted his ass as he followed behind, laughing at his partner's excitement.

As they ascended the stairs to the third floor, Seb sobered considerably, aware that he was technically within enemy territory, regardless of how helpless that enemy seemed. The paint on the bannister was peeling and it flaked where his hand brushed it, the stairwell retained the lingering scent of piss and Moran steadily felt his excitement for the action ahead dwindling. She'd probably cry and sob and then he'd shoot her and it'd be no fun at all. The sounds of Jim's footsteps on the stairs behind him made him hesitate for a moment.

"Get moving, you ridiculous beast. I want to get this over with." Jim planted both hands on Sebastian's ass, which, thanks to the steep incline of the stairwell, was directly at grope level. Grabbing two handfuls of well toned ass, Jim propelled his gunman upwards, further toward their goal but it only made Sebastian laugh and lean back harder. By the time they reached the woman's apartment, Seb had managed to work Jim into a fury that quickly sobered the tipsy gunman.

Jim straightened his v-neck and smoothed his hair before knocking on the door. The woman on the other side was 26, had borrowed a substantial amount of money in order to flee the country in three days time in return for very interesting information from her former employers, a very influential investment firm. Not including a long history of affairs, she had no criminal record but wanted desperately to retire early and had been lucky enough to be put in contact with Moriarty.

As the click of the door knob being turned sounded, time slowed for Sebastian as adrenaline and intuition screamed that he was missing something vital. Instinctively he reached for his gun, fingers slipping quickly into his jacket and removing the handgun strapped there in one fluid, practiced motion. Someone else had been practicing as well though, as even with his excellent reflexes the shot didn't go off in time to stop the knife from hitting Jim.

From over Jim's shoulder he watched her corpse collapse in the doorway, the shot having pierced her skull straight through her eye socket, converting her eye into splattered jelly. He took in the details of the shot, the messiness, the after splatter and the arch of the falling body all before it hit the floor and was already turning to Moriarty when Jim began to turn around to face him.

The knife could only have been in him for 2-3 seconds maximum but two inches of kitchen cleaver is bound to hurt, even only for that long. It wobbled at a precarious angle from Jim's shoulder and it was clear that though she'd practiced the speed of her throw, she hadn't had time to work on aim or force. The look on Jim's face was hilarious, stretched in a comical look of absolute disbelief. Not that he had been stabbed but that-

"-that bitch actually worked up the courage to do it!" Jim tore the knife from his shoulder in one clean jerk after giving the wound a cursory look. He tossed it in the air with his good arm and it flashed silver and red in the light before he caught it in one easy motion and smiled. He began humming to himself and skipped toward the stairs, Seb's hand clutched in his own. They drove away grinning and Jim played "Put Your Records On," and Seb secretly hummed along, deep down where Jim could never hear it.

(Going to post a follow up to this that is just violent sex at a club if, like me, you feel this chapter may be incomplete without it.)


End file.
